


To Touch I thru III

by mamadeb



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamadeb/pseuds/mamadeb
Summary: Skinner comforts Mulder while Scully is in the hospital.





	To Touch I thru III

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

To Touch I by Debra Fran Baker

26 Dec 1997 revised

* * *

To Touch I  
Debra Fran Baker

Fox Mulder sat on the bench outside Dana Scully's hospital room. He was beautiful. Agent Mulder was always beautiful. Now, etched by exhaustion and emotions, he was exquisite. Skinner wasn't used to thinking about men that way. Men were for a quick release in the dark, some place where his now ex-wife and his superiors would not find him, would not find out. He needed the men, but he needed his life and his career more, so he tried to keep it hidden and fast.

Skinner sat down beside his agent, carefully keeping his distance. Mulder looked at him with those sleepy, ancient eyes. Skinner knew those eyes. They'd seen too much too quickly, like the eyes of the children in Viet Nam, the eyes of the children who lived there and the eyes of the children who came to fight.

The two men said words out loud. The words were important. Their world had been overturned. Enemies had been killed, or believed killed. A good woman was going to live. Skinner's heart leaped for relief and joy when he heard that Dana Scully's cancer had gone away. And then, for an all-too-brief moment, Mulder smiled. There were no words to describe that smile. 

They spoke silently to one another beneath the words. It was too public here for anything else, but they no longer dared meet in private. Even Mulder's office was dangerous for them now. It had begun in Mulder's office. 

                            * * *

Skinner stood in the doorway to the basement office. It was as cluttered as always with Mulder's papers, posters and photographs. He searched for signs of Agent Scully. There was a pretty coffee mug on a shelf and a small pastel folding umbrella under the shelf, but otherwise it was as if she'd never been there at all. Soon, if what Mulder had told him the other night were true, those would be the only things remaining. He could see Mulder huddling under the too-small umbrella, or gulping bad coffee from the mug - until one or both were broken and Mulder could add more guilt to his load.

Mulder himself was oblivious to Skinner's presence. He was hunched over his computer screen, lost in cyberspace. He had his glasses on, and they reflected the white screen, hiding his eyes. That made it easier. 

"Agent Mulder?" Mulder jerked, startled. He moved as if to erase what was on the screen, but seemed to think better of it.

"Sir?"

"May I come in? We need to talk." Mulder nodded, and hastened to clear off the other chair. He did so by picking up the entire heap of files and books and depositing it on his already full desk. He then patted the mess as if to say "Stay there." Of course, it immediately tumbled to the ground. 

"I'm sorry, sir. Scully usually keeps things under control. Please, sit down."

"She's your partner, Agent Mulder. Not your mother. Or your wife." Skinner gingerly took his seat. 

"I know. No wife would put up with this for long." Mulder took off his glasses. "What did you want to talk about, sir?"

Skinner took a deep breath. This was a mistake. Mulder was too close and there was no one else around.

"This is very difficult, Agent Mulder. This talk will never have happened." Mulder's eyes widened. "If anyone asks, I came down here to discuss Agent Scully's health."

"You haven't come here to discuss Agent Scully's health?"

"No. I've come here to discuss ... us."

"Us, sir? Us as director and agent? Or something else?" Mulder batted his eyes. The man was infuriating. He was also beautiful and sexy and...

"Something else. Wives. We were joking about wives. You've never been married, Agent Mulder."

"No, sir."

"You don't date, either." Skinner forced himself to sit erect in the chair. He wanted to lean over and invade Mulder's space.

"No, sir. Sir, this is getting very personal."

"I know. It will get more personal."

"Do I get a chance to pry?"

"You won't need to." Skinner began rubbing his hands on his pants. Mulder, who was never able to sit still, began playing with a paper clip. "There are several rumors floating about you and Scully."

"I know. We've tried to quash them, but that always backfires."

"Some say you are long-time lovers. Some even say you are secretly married. Everyone believes you two are in love." Skinner knew that there was something between the two agents, something he could not share. That was all right.

"Sir..."

"You aren't in love with Agent Scully, are you, Agent Mulder?"

"No, sir. She's my best friend and I trust her completely, the way I can trust no one else. If she dies..." Skinner noticed he said "if", not "when." "If she dies, I don't what I'll do. I've become very dependent upon her, I think. It sounds like I'm in love, but that feeling just isn't there. Not for her." He looked at Skinner. "You knew that. How did you know that?"

"She's a woman. She's beautiful, intelligent woman who for some reason obviously cares for you, but she's still a woman." Mulder turned pale. Skinner reached out a hand to touch him, but thought better of it.

"Sir? Does anyone else suspect?" Mulder was barely breathing now. His eyes burned.

"No, I don't think so. You've done a good job of covering yourself. The videos are a good blind."

"I do watch a lot of videos. I just don't watch those."

"No. You watch UFO conferences and Bigfoot movies. And whatever goes on in that twisted head of yours." Mulder sat up, obviously worried. "Relax, Agent Mulder. You aren't going to lose your career, at least not this way."

"Then, why are we having this conversation at all?" He was calmer now. His mind seemed to be functioning again.

"First, because I need you to know that you aren't alone in this." Mulder's eyes widened again. Then he grinned for a moment. Skinner's heart gave a little jump.

"I always thought that MAD was a poor strategy."

"MAD?"

"Mutually Assured Destruction. If you out me, I can out you."

"That's not..."

"How did you find out about me? Gaydar has never worked for me."

"You don't date. There are million rumors about you and your partner, but not one confirmation. And I saw you look at Krycek in my apartment."

"Krycek." His voice hardened. "They never tell you don't fool around with your partner because he might be a double agent. I actually *pined* for the bastard until he killed my father."

"That's what I saw. Love turning to complete hatred. And jealousy."

"Jealousy, sir?"

"You were as subtle as a blow to the belly, Agent Mulder. That's when it all fell into place."

"What?"

"Why the hell I put up with you. Why I let you get away with murder. Why I won't let any one else supervise you. Why you are still in the FBI at all. And why you will stay in the FBI until I say otherwise. And why I was willing to make a deal with the devil to save your partner."

Mulder went paler still. Skinner wondered if he were going into shock yet again. 

"Sir, are you in love with me?"

Skinner nodded ruefully. "I'm a fool. You are not an easy man to love, Agent Mulder, in the best of circumstances. And I do believe these are the worst."

"You made a deal with the smoking man to save Scully because you love me?" Mulder, who believed in little green men and human lightening rods and probably Santa Claus, was incredulous. 

"Yes, Agent Mulder. And because Agent Scully is one of the finest agents in the bureau and losing her would be a victory for them in and of itself. And then...she is the only thing keeping you alive and sane. She does the job I wish I could do. She does it better than I could do it. I don't have her strength."

"No one does, sir. Even now, no one does."

"No one does. And the deal failed. She's still dying. I endangered my career for nothing."

"Not nothing." Mulder was whispering. "Everything. I know why you hid your feelings. Why are you taking another risk now?"

"I'm taking two risks, Agent Mulder. One is my career, but that's starting to mean less to me. The other...I don't know how you feel." Skinner forced his hands to be still.

"I don't know how I feel. I thought...I thought I was in love with Krycek. I could be in love with you. I could easily be in love with you, but right now I don't know what to feel, or how to feel. I don't know who I am right now. And you, sir, you're my boss. I don't know...If you touch me, I'm lost.

"I'm in the middle of a cosmic irony. I've spent my entire career searching for the truth, and all this time I've been lying to everyone, including my own partner. Not just lies of omission. I've actively lied. She hasn't looked beyond the videos or the magazines. And the moment I stop lying is the moment my search ends. I may be in love with you, sir, but what good would it do us?"

Mulder began to cry. Skinner wanted to gather him in his arms and let him sob out months of stress and frustration. He thought about how well Mulder fit, how right it would feel, and how arousing it would be. He steeled himself to ignore his growing erection and just stared at Mulder. But Mulder noticed, or noticed something of his own, and looked at him.

"This is dangerous, sir."

"Agent Mulder, I would never make you do anything you didn't want to do."

"I know. We still can't allow this happen. We could never keep a physical relationship a secret."

"This is going to be torture. I want to tear off your clothes right now." Mulder shivered. "No. I want to hold you in my arms all night long and keep the nightmares away." 

"Sir, don't. Don't talk about it. It will only make it worse. It's our lives, sir."

Skinner nodded. "We'll live. Somehow. I don't think I'll be coming here again. At least not until Agent Scully returns." He rose to leave. Mulder also stood.

"No, sir. Goodbye, sir." 

"Goodbye, Agent Mulder." *I love you.* Skinner didn't sleep that night.

They never touched each other. They were distant and formal in public, as they'd always been, and they made certain not to be alone. That was dangerous. They couldn't even phone each other - there was no way to know who'd be listening on any line they might use. All they had were fantasies and those they kept to themselves.

Things were happening. Mulder seemed to go around the bend -first having holes drilled into his head and then killing himself. Or rather, faking a suicide to cover killing in self-defense. 

And now the world was upside down. Blevins was dead, the smoker was dead. At least, Skinner hoped and prayed he was dead, but he doubted it was so. There was no body. And Scully was going to live.

                            * * *

He gave Mulder the bloody photograph and walked into the Scully family. He even managed a smile. They all looked so glad - the doctor, the priest, the mother and the brother. He stayed for a few minutes, making small talk, joking about Scully getting back to work tomorrow. Then Scully looked at him.

"Sir? Is Agent Mulder still outside?" Why *was* Mulder outside? Then Skinner saw Bill Scully's reaction to his sister's partner's name. The man hated Mulder. For once, his agent was showing discretion. He'd have plenty of time to be with Scully when she actually did get back to work.

"Sir?" Scully was looking agitated.

"He was when I came in, Agent Scully. I'll go out and check."

"If he is, please make sure he gets home, sir. And that he eats something and sleeps. You know he doesn't sleep."

"I will, Agent Scully."

"Good night, sir. And thank you."

"Good night."

                           ***

Mulder was still out there. His eyes were wet and red and his breathing was ragged. He'd been crying. Once again, Skinner wanted to put his arms around him, but he refrained. Instead, he crouched in front of him.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, sir?" Good. He was still noticing things.

"When was the last time you slept? Or ate?"

"What day is it?" 

"Come on. I'm going to take you home."

"What home?" Oh, God. Mulder's apartment was still a crime scene.

"Where have you been staying?"

"Scully's apartment before she got sick. Since then...I've stayed in the office, took showers at the gym..."

This was going to be a mistake. "Agent Mulder, you're going home with me."

"Sir, we can't."

"I have a guest room. You'll have perfect privacy. I promised Scully I'd make you take care of yourself."

Mulder closed his eyes briefly, and stood up. 

"I'll follow you to your apartment."

"You will do no such thing. You are in no condition to drive. Do you have a bag in your car?" Mulder nodded, resigned.

Mulder was taking a shower. Skinner imagined him standing under the spray, the water coursing down his naked body, soaping himself. The image was clear and beautiful in Skinner's mind. He tried to force it away with all the discipline at his command. He tried to distract himself by heating up a can of vegetable soup and making sandwiches. He heard the water stop. The image changed to Mulder drying himself. Skinner nearly dropped the beers he was taking out of the refrigerator at that thought. He looked at his hands and sighed.

Just as Skinner finished setting the table, Mulder appeared. He was wearing loose sweats, his feet were bare and his hair was damp. His skin was flushed with the heat of the shower and there were deep rings around his eyes. No one should look that gorgeous after what Mulder had been through.

"Can I help with anything, sir?"

"You can bring the bowls of soup to the table." Skinner had already placed them on a tray. Mulder waited until his superior moved away from the stove before he picked up the tray. With exaggerated care, he slowly carried the soup to the table and set each bowl in its place.

"What was that about, Agent Mulder?"

"I was afraid I might spill the soup." Skinner shook his head. How could someone so tall and athletic be so clumsy? How could someone so blindingly brilliant be so...dense? Mulder was one big contradiction.

He sat down at the table at his usual seat. Mulder sat opposite him. Both men began to eat, but Mulder stopped.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder?"

"Do you have any crackers?"

"Crackers?"

"Crackers. For the soup. My mother always gave us crackers when we had alphabet soup."

"No, Agent Mulder. No crackers."

Mulder nodded, and began amusing himself by spelling out words with the noodles. He was especially happy when he managed to spell "Reticulans." *I am in love with a small child. A sexy, thirty-six year old small child.* Somehow, that also didn't bother Skinner.

They passed the rest of the meal awkwardly, talking quietly of sports and television. They did at least like the same sports if not always the same teams. And Mulder, of course, had encyclopedic knowledge of every Star Trek episode of every series. Skinner had missed the original show when it first aired, and he had not seen any of the sequels. He said Mulder's work was science fiction enough. Mulder just smiled. Afterwards, Mulder washed the pot and put the plates in the dishwasher while Skinner had a second beer. 

Mulder wanted to stay by the TV in the living room, but Skinner insisted that he use the guest room. "There's a radio there if you need white noise, and you'll be more comfortable. It's no trouble. Or you could try the balcony."

"I'll take the bed, sir."

It was almost 2AM. They parted at the top of the stairs. Skinner lay in his bed and thought about the man in the next room. He tried to imagine touching Mulder's hair, caressing Mulder's skin, holding Mulder's body next to him as they slept. Somehow, that was much harder than his other fantasies, the ones he'd had every night for he didn't know how long. The ones where Mulder screamed in pleasure beneath him or came in his mouth. Those were easy enough. They were just sex. He could just plug Mulder's beautiful face into the picture. 

But these were different. The gentle touches he imagined were more intimate than any act of sex, because they spoke of trust and familiarity and of a relationship that could never be. He couldn't know how his hair or skin felt, he'd only touched Mulder in violence the day Mulder had attacked him. And while Skinner had had and enjoyed his share of violent sex, the thought of it with Mulder turned his stomach. Mulder had been hurt by too many people too often. Skinner wanted to protect him from further hurt. He couldn't even do that for him. And, that, too, was more frustrating than the lack of sex. 

Skinner could hear the radio in the next room. He hoped the sound would make up for the lack of television, for strange surroundings. He knew that Mulder slept badly and had nightmares, but hoped that sheer exhaustion would allow him to sleep until morning. Skinner had to go in, but he'd go late. He'd see that Mulder took the day off so he could spend it with Scully and arranging for his apartment to be cleaned. There were companies that would do it.

Finally, Skinner drifted off to sleep. He was there maybe two, maybe three hours when he woke to the sound of screaming. Damn!

Mulder was sitting straight up in bed, his eyes wide open, and his hands warding someone off. He was yelling incoherently. Skinner walked into what should have been Mulder's field of view, but Mulder didn't react at all. He was still asleep.

"Mulder? Mulder?" Skinner whispered his name. He was afraid to shock him. Mulder didn't respond. "Fox? Can you hear me, Fox?"

"It's all a lie! Everything! Beautiful lies!"

"Agent Mulder? This is Director Skinner. You're perfectly safe. Wake up!"

 Mulder blinked. "Sir? What are you doing here?"

"I live here, Agent Mulder. You're my guest tonight." Mulder looked scared and very small in the middle of the queen sized bed. His hair was mussed and his eyes were wide. He was rocking back and forth.

"This is your house, sir?"

"Yes, it is."

"Okay. I'm safe here. No one could find me here."

"No, Agent Mulder. No one will get you while I can protect you. Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

Mulder just looked at him. Skinner could almost hear him begging for his boss to get in with him and keep the monsters at bay.

"It's okay, sir. I'll be all right. I'll see you in the morning."

"If you want, I'll stay here for awhile. I'll sit in the rocking chair and read or something, if you don't mind the light."

"Please, keep the light on. Will you stay until I fall asleep?" Now Mulder sounded like a small child. 

"I'll stay all night long if you need me to." Skinner meant every word.

"I just don't want to go to sleep by myself again. I wish..."

"So do I, Agent Mulder. So do I."

Skinner found a book and settled himself in the padded rocking chair by the window.

"Good night, Agent Mulder."

"Good night, sir."

It took a long time, but finally Mulder fell asleep. Skinner never did look at his book. He spent a while watching Mulder slumber. He was even more beautiful asleep. He looked innocent, young. Skinner could believe he was frozen at twelve the way the psyche reports had it. Or maybe a little older. Something had happened these past couple of days that had shaken Mulder. 

There had been a few moments when Skinner had believed that Mulder had indeed committed suicide. It came as a blow, but not a shock. He'd expected news like that for years. He knew how fragile Mulder was, but he couldn't take the thought of a world without him. That's why Skinner depended upon Scully to keep Mulder safe and sound. She had the courage and Mulder trusted her. Mulder depended upon her now for stability. 

If she had died, if her cancer had gotten her despite her strength, Mulder would have followed. He probably wouldn't have put a gun to his head, although Skinner had been trying to figure out a way to take Mulder's weapons away until at least after Scully's funeral. More likely, he simply would have taken more chances out in the field. That by itself would be enough. The death certificate would say "gun shot" or "accident" and the folder would say "in the line of duty", but it would be suicide nevertheless. 

This act had been too soon. His partner was still alive, and Skinner found it hard to believe he'd leave her alone in her final days, or make her mourn him. Something else must have happened. And then she'd said she'd seen him earlier in the same clothes. Was she trying to make him believe they'd been seeing each other? He knew then that Mulder was hiding somewhere. 

Mulder stirred on the bed, and then settled back. Skinner got up from the rocking chair and walked to his agent. It was odd seeing him at peace, and still. Skinner felt a chill. There was only one way Mulder would ever really be at peace, and that would be a victory for them. 

Even so, there he was, like a sleeping prince from a children's story, waiting for someone to wake him. It was safe enough. Skinner bent down and lightly kissed Mulder's cheek.

"Good night, Fox."

Mulder moved, but didn't wake. Skinner went back to his chair and kept watch over his agent.

=END= 

Copyright December 1997 Debra Fran Baker and NightRoads Associates

 

* * *

 

8 Jan 1998  
TITLE: To Touch II: To Feel   
AUTHOR: Debra Fran Baker  
E-MAIL:   
FEEDBACK: please.  
RATING: R, maybe  
CLASSIFICATION: V, RA  
KEYWORDS: SLASH, UST, M/Sk  
SPOILERS: Redux/Redux II  
DISCLAIMER: Ten-Thirteen's and Chris Carter's, not mine.  
SUMMARY: A companion to To Touch, from Mulder's POV. The next morning.

* * *

To Touch II: To Feel

I woke up in your guest bed. The late morning sunlight was streaming through the window. You were still there in that rocking chair, the way you said you would be. And you were watching me, the way you said you would. You saw my eyes open, and you smiled. I felt that smile all the way across the room. There was warmth there, and safety, and acceptance. It was more than I could bear, so I hid beneath the blankets. When I looked out again, you were still there, and still smiling. I could almost believe your words to me that day in my office when you spoke of love. I wanted to believe, more than I ever did in anything before. I wanted to be in love with you.

"Good morning, Agent Mulder." "Agent" sounded more intimate from your mouth than even my name would. 

"Good morning, sir. Sir? Were you there all night?"

"I wouldn't be anywhere else." I believed you. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I cost you a night's sleep."

"I can lose some sleep now and again. Especially for you." If we had been other than ourselves, you would have held me then. Instead, you just smiled.

Your smile is all the touch I need, but I want so much more. I'm afraid. I know if I touch you, if I just brush your shoulder with my hand, it will burn. We will turn to fire. Fire frightens me. You frighten me, too, with the intensity of your feelings and the way you make me feel. 

I knew it that night in your guest room, when you woke me out of that nightmare. I saw Scully and my sister lying on those tables, pregnant and helpless. And I was helpless, as I always am. But your voice called me out of the darkness. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't scared. You were there. That was enough right then.

I'd thought I'd stopped feeling. I had my obsession and my work, and I didn't need to feel anything more, so I could build walls and live in solitary. But first she came, and then he came, and now you are here, and the walls are crashing down and everything I believed in is lying in pieces on the floor. Can you take the place of an obsession? I think you have, and that frightens me, too.

You saw the fear in my eyes. I think you can read my thoughts almost as well as Scully can. I saw the muscles in your arms tense and relax as if you were going to violate our agreement, but changed your mind. Both of our careers were in your hands right then. I would gladly have tossed mine away for a moment there. I was relying on your strength. I have to rely on the strength of others. I have none of my own. I use it all on my work and my drives.

"I'd better see about breakfast. I do have to go in today."

"Do I, sir?"

"You are officially on leave, and will remain on leave until your partner is fit for duty again. You are *never* going into the field alone if I can help it." There was steel and desperation in your voice. 

"You can't keep me wrapped in cotton." 

"No. I can only wish I can. Breakfast in a half-hour." And you were gone from the room, and all the warmth was gone with you. 

I found my bag and pulled out some jeans and a t-shirt. I'd spend the day with Scully if her family let me. Her brother hated me. I don't blame him. I'd hate anyone who put my sister in danger. I'd hate anyone who put Scully in danger. 

I was upset at your protectiveness, but that's the way I act towards Scully. It's a mistake, but I can't help it. She's become part of my life. You realize this, but you aren't jealous. You have different parts of my life and I have very little of my own left.

I never did have a life, you know. I've been deep in this closet forever. I lost my virginity to college, to a boy whose name I don't remember. Some pretty English major in a leather jacket, pretending to be bad. I always thought that was my type - the pretty punks, the bonny bad boys I found so irresistible in England. 

Just like the one I found so irresistible in DC. They must have known my weakness when they paired me with Krycek. Even his ugly haircut couldn't make him ugly. You knew that. I saw you looking at him when I dragged him to your apartment. Mostly, though, I saw you.

I'd heard rumors about you. I found the gay scene quickly when I came to DC, and there are always rumors. You were less a part of that shadow government than I was, and I hung out at the fringes and looked at the college boys, but even I heard about you. You had more hair and you were married, but you also had that decidedly non-standard body. It was beautiful enough that night to drive all thoughts of Krycek out of my mind. And you didn't question me, either. 

I'd left the scene years before Krycek was my partner. My work became my life, and it didn't make a different who I wasn't having sex with. I still stayed in that closet like so many others, like Tom Colton trying to ride his closet up the ranks. A little misdirection and I was safe. 

And then someone paired me with the perfect partner - skeptical, brilliant, tough. She happened to be female and beautiful. I resented her for all of one day, maybe. Then I found myself opening up to her the way I never had to anyone before. Maybe if she'd been male or I'd been straight there would have been a romance. We *are* best friends, closer than friends, closer than lovers, closer than siblings. We were partners. We are partners. Even when someone stole her away and gifted me with a pretty punk, we were partners. Even after the rat found his way into my bed. Especially after the bastard cut and run.

And she doesn't know that her partner, the one who demands Truth and Honesty and Trust, has been lying to her all these years, because at first I couldn't tell her and then it was irrelevant. But the fact remains that in order to find a higher truth, I had to live a lie. She wouldn't betray me, but she would be hurt, and I can't do that to her. I'm still protecting her. And I'm protecting you. My search may be over. I've seen too much these last few days. I may have nothing left to protect, not even a career. But I will not hurt you.

I could smell oatmeal and eggs. I hurried down stairs to find a table literally groaning with food.

"Have some brunch, Agent Mulder?" You were grinning. 

"Do you think there's enough to eat, sir?" 

"I do have some alphabet cereal if you want some more."

"The one with marshmallow vowels?" I laughed. It had been a long time since I laughed. "I'll start with what you have and then we'll see."

I filled my plate. It had been hours since that midnight meal and I was hungry. 

"I'd better call the cleaning company. If they can get the new rug installed I can be in my apartment tonight." Did you look disappointed or relieved? We both knew that if I spent another night there, it wouldn't be in your guest room. You passed the phone over to me.

I called the company and made the arrangements. It was only one carpet, so they'd be finished that day.

"That was fast."

"They know me. I have an account with them." You rolled your eyes. "They'll even feed my fish. I think I have fish."

"So, you'll be home tonight?"

How would I answer that? That apartment was not my home. I spent as little time there as I could. It was the place I slept when I slept in DC, and where I watched my videos. I haven't had a home since I was twelve. I looked at you. You were solid and safe, and beautiful in a way that no one, not even Scully, could equal. If I dared, I would let you be my home. I didn't even dare call you by name.

"Yes, sir."

You got up and began to gather the dishes together. I shooed you away. I would have taken them from your hands, but that might have meant touching you. I wanted to touch you. Instead, I rinsed off the plates and put them in the dishwasher, and tackled the pots.

I think you do love me, which means you think I deserve your love. Scully loves me, too, but I don't know in what way. I'm afraid to find out. And I don't know why either of you do. I let both you down, I ditch you both, I nearly kill Scully, twice. I betray the trust I long to give you. I run away from it. Yet another cosmic irony - when the truth comes too close to the heart, I run away. You both fill different parts of the emptiness inside of me, and I don't know how to live without that emptiness. 

"Thank you, Agent Mulder."

"It was the least I could do. You cooked."

You put on your suit coat. No amount of wool or starched cotton could hide your shoulders. I wore suits like flimsy armor, to hide my weakness. You wore them like I wear old sweats.

"Enjoy your day, Agent Mulder, and send my regards to Agent Scully. Call me when you get back to your apartment"

"I will, sir."

I touched his hand for a moment before he left. It burned.

  
Copyright 1998 Debra Fran Baker and NightRoads Associates

 

* * *

 

19 Jan 1998  
TITLE: To Touch III: To Know  
AUTHOR: Debra Fran Baker  
E-MAIL:   
FEEDBACK: Please  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
RATING: R?  
CLASSIFICATION: VRA  
KEYWORDS: M/Sk SLASH  
SPOILERS: Season Five  
DISCLAIMER: 1013's and Chris Carter's, not mine.   
SUMMARY: Third part of the To Touch triptych. Scully's turn.

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To Touch III: To Know

Dana Scully closed the office door, leaving her partner and her superior alone together. She smiled a little to herself, despite her worry. Fox Mulder was hurting badly after that last little caper with Linda Bowman. Walter Skinner was the one to help him now, if they'd only stop running in place.

                        * * *

Mulder thought he was keeping a big secret. They all did. Scully, though, had a sense about these things. Melissa thought she was psychic, but that was ridiculous. It's all a matter of mannerisms and subtle reactions - purely scientific in nature. Not that she expected every man who saw her to be attracted to her. She was not vain, and she certainly pegged men as straight who didn't look at her twice. And men as bi who never looked at anything else with her in the room. There was just something about men that she could always know. One day she'd sit down and figure it out, but not now. Not when she was finally picking up the pieces after her cancer and after her daughter, rebuilding her life again. 

She could remember walking into Mulder's office for the first time with crystal clarity. He turned around in his chair, looking at her through those glasses that made him look so adorable. It wasn't fair. *Her* glasses made her look forty. *His* made him look cute. 

Her first thought was, "Oh, he's gorgeous. This could be fun." Her second was, "Too bad he's nuts." Followed by, "It doesn't matter, he's gay." She just knew it, again. It wasn't anything he said or did. He didn't hit on her, and he treated her as an adversary (well, she had been sent to spy on him) but not as helpless or stupid or weak. He assumed that she was competent and went on from there. She even liked that he called her Scully. There were times now that she responded to it better than to Dana.

He was gorgeous, and he was nuts, and he was unmistakably brilliant and intuitive. He read people like they were books, and he remembered every book he ever read. They tossed theories about like racquetball and even when they reached an impasse they never lost respect for each other.

When did he become her best friend? When did he become her only friend? Everyone else was dull next to Mulder. Everything was dull next to Mulder. She knew she was more intelligent now. She had to be just to keep up. And he needed that competition. He also needed something to rely upon. Someone he could call in the middle of the night. Someone to drive three hours to bail him out of a drunk tank or to lock him in a storage room or shoot him in the shoulder if he needed it. Scully liked being needed. She became a doctor to help people, she joined the FBI to help better. No one needed more than Mulder. He was sometimes more than one person could manage.

"Hey, Scully. You awake?"

"What is it now, Mulder? It's 2AM!" "I just had this dream. I don't remember it now, but I woke up on the floor again."

"Buy a bed, Mulder. They're lots more comfortable than couches and you don't fall out of them."

"I can't get back to sleep. Can I come over?"

"Now I won't get back to sleep either. Is that your plan?"

"Misery loves company." And she'd throw on some sweats and put a frozen pizza in the oven. The frozen pizzas she bought just for times like this. She should get an award for Co-dependent Partner of the Year. And they'd talk for a couple of hours until she fell asleep on *her* couch while he channel surfed. She'd wake to find him gone. He'd be bright and chipper at the office the next day, waving airline tickets in her bleary face.

No wonder there were rumors about them. They spent off-duty time together. They were always traveling together, staying in motels together. How many nights did he spend on the floor of her room because one of them had nightmares and couldn't sleep? The only way they could spend more time together would be if they were married. Now, that was a scary thought. Living with Mulder fulltime for more than a week or so? She couldn't survive it. She hoped that...

She actively tried to squelch the rumors, and that, predictably, spread them further. That was her intention. If her friend wanted to keep his lifestyle a secret, this would only help.

She didn't mind that he stayed closeted around her. She knew that a gay FBI agent would have a short career one way or another, so they tended to stay hidden except in the secret places that she wasn't supposed to know about. She did mind that he had felt he needed to put on a charade around her - all those magazines and videos. She didn't doubt that he had real magazine and videos that she would never see (and didn't especially want to see, either.) But he was so obvious about it. He was as much as shouting that he was a heterosexual pervert. She would have figured out his secret even without that odd sense. Maybe he decided that himself, since he wasn't talking about his videos or reading his magazines quite so much lately. Or something else had taken his attention. 

"Scully, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

They had that conversation every day for months. They both knew she was lying, and they both let it go. She loved him for that. Oh, yes, she loved him. He needed her so much and Scully wanted to be needed, even when she was dying. She worried about him when she was dying. Who come to his rescue when she was too sick to work anymore? When she was dead? He'd closed himself off from everyone else in the world. He was alienated from his mother, and the three guys were not really in a position to save him. Someone else was.

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I have your report about the events in Rhode Island."

"Yes, sir. I hope it was satisfactory."

"You did a commendable job, Agent Scully."

"Mulder should be ready for duty in a few more days."

"Yes. That's good news." Skinner took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes and replaced them. He shook his head. "Is it good news, Agent Scully? Or will the damn fool go after something else?" His knuckles were white.

She just smiled.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully. You don't need this now. You didn't need this past weekend, either."

"He's my partner, sir. And you made perfectly clear that taking care of Mulder was part of my job description."

He had, too, during the Roche investigation. Scully would never forget the way he tore into her when that idiot Mulder actually took a convicted mass murderer on a commercial airline to Boston. She resented it for a moment. Then she understood. She knew, of course, that Skinner was bisexual. Now she had final confirmation that Skinner was, for whatever reason, in love with her partner. She'd thought something was up while Mulder-the-idiot was off in Russia *breaking into* a gulag, and proved it. He was worried sick about her partner and could not show it in any other way without arousing suspicion.

"I'm sorry about that, Agent Scully."

"It's all right, sir. He obviously needs someone to take care of him. I'm his partner for as long as I can be."

"Thank you."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"When I...can't be anymore, find him someone else. Don't let him be alone." She clasped her hands together so hard she could feel her fingernails.

"Agent Scully, you have my word on that, even if I have to do it myself."

"Thank you, sir. I need to know that."

She did, too. She knew it would be hard to find Mulder a partner who would refute his theories without refuting him, and who would care for him at all. Mulder made pissing people off an art form. But Skinner had already seen past that. He cared about the brilliant idiot. He'd take care of her lost little boy for her. 

She wasn't sure if Mulder knew or how he felt. He was so concerned about her that he may not have had room for anything else anyway. And she couldn't help him. She had to deal with dying on her own terms. It was too much to ask her to help him through it, too. 

And then...then they were told Mulder's search was all "beautiful lies." And she told Mulder it was *his* fault she had cancer. And she walked into her apartment and found a tear-stained partner with a horrific tale. It wasn't the surveillance or the dead body on his floor that horrified her - these things were nothing new in either of their lives. 

"We can make it look like a suicide. I blew his face off so no one could see who it was." He was in her living room, drinking coffee.

"Suicide, Mulder? Why would a strange man come to your apartment to kill himself?" She'd finally changed into nightclothes, and was sitting in a chair opposite him.

"Not 'himself,' Scully. 'Myself.' We can make it look like I killed myself."

She froze. Would anyone believe that? Yes, they would, and all too easily. 

"Mulder?" She could hardly speak. "Mulder, why suicide?"

His voice was always flat, but this time it was dead. "I was holding my weapon in my hand when Kritschgau called. If he'd delayed a few minutes longer, it might have been me on that floor." 

"Oh, Mulder, no!"

"I've never had a strong hold on this life, Scully. The events of the past day have made it a little weaker."

"You've done this before?"

"No." Scully could breathe again. "Not voluntarily, anyway. But sometimes I look at my weapon and think how easy it would be."

Scully sat for a long moment, and then walked over to her partner and took his hand.

"Mulder, promise me that you'll talk to someone about this. And that you won't do anything after my funeral."

"You're not going to have a funeral, Scully. I'll find a cure."

And that was that. He wouldn't talk about it anymore. Instead, he was filled with plans to go to the DoD and to find out the Truth, as if it still mattered. She was to identify the body as his, and find out who in the FBI was part of all this.

She lost faith in Skinner then. She believed that she had proof he was with the enemy. Mulder never did. He continued to trust the man even after Scully said not to. He also alienated Bill and refused her offer to take the blame. And he found her cure. And intuited who was the real force, and restored her faith in Skinner - so much that she asked him to take care of her partner.

Her cancer gone, she could focus on those around her again. And she could see something was not right between the two men. When she thought back, she realized it began before Rhode Island. There was a strange tension between them. They made a point of not being alone together, of standing far apart. Of looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes. There was something there, and both men knew it, and both were doing their best to control it. It was Hell for her just watching their pain and longing. It must have been a thousand times worse for them. Damn homophobia and regulations. The one would take Mulder's career and kill him, the other would destroy Skinner and his exemplary record.

She'd hoped they could talk about it in Florida, but the damned Mossmen showed up and all she could do was hold him like a child and sing to him. And then there was that weirdness in Bloomington that she still couldn't understand. And then she was off to San Diego for a peaceful holiday with her family. Hah. From now on, Christmas would be a beautiful little red-haired girl who should never have been. There was Mulder's big confession, but she already knew it. Did he really think that she wouldn't know the cause of her own infertility? All of her ova were gone - if her ovaries hadn't still be secreting hormones, she'd be in menopause now. She knew exactly what had happened. Mulder who loved the truth loved his secrets more.

She wondered if she should tell him she knew all about the nursing home, too? No. Just as he felt the need to protect her, she felt the need to let him think he was.

And here the three of them were, in a triangle of love and respect and need, compounded with secrets and pain. And Modell came back into their lives. She'd never forget how easily Mulder had placed the gun to his head, and she knew how vulnerable he was to suggestion. So, when Skinner, with all the control he could muster in his voice not quite covering his love and concern, ordered Mulder to give him his weapon, she backed her superior up. It hurt, and she wondered at the wisdom of leaving Mulder unprotected and unguarded, but she could not bear the thought of him carrying a gun. There was no way to know where he'd aim it - at a foe, at a friend or at himself.

And then he was holding a gun on her again, and this time she didn't have a bullet-proof vest on, but she knew that if she could distract him, she'd get Linda Bowman and they'd be safe. And she was right, and they were safe and all was over.

And now he was standing in Skinner's office and Skinner was visibly controlling himself again because Mulder was hurting so much. *She* could hug Mulder, but that wasn't what he needed. She was only his best friend. Damn their careers. There was a man's soul at stake.

So, Scully walked into the office again. They were standing a mile apart and studiously not looking at each other's eyes.

"Sir, Mulder, I have something to say."

"Agent Scully..."

"Please, sir. Both of you." She took a deep breath. "I know. And only I know." She walked out quickly, leaving stunned silence and a closed door behind her.

                         * * *

The silence turned to soft voices, and then tears. She opened the door a crack. Skinner was kneeling by Mulder's chair, his arms around the agent, stroking his hair and back, and pressing kisses on Mulder's head. Mulder was holding his boss tight while he cried on the broad shoulder and kissed the muscular neck. Scully closed the door again and smiled to herself. They would be fine. She knew. 

Copyright 1998 Debra Fran Baker and Nightroads Associates


End file.
